My heart

My Heart
Today you are 11. Double ones.
You are the prize in the cereal box.
You are my best teacher.
You bring me peace like no other.
You bring me terror like no other.
You are the best triumph over tradgedy.
You saved my life. And you'll never know it.
You are my heart
walking around
outside of my body.

Salmon

Two seperate people told me the same thing, in the same words, hours apart on Saturday:
"You don't need to swim upstream all your life."
One knew me before I was born. The other is a recent re-appearance after many years of self-imposed solitude and shape-shifting, so probably had only the evidence before him on which to base his observation.
Both were probably right.
But when it's all you know...?
Letting go... quitting swimming... just going limp and trusting the tide?
Is beyond my comprehension.
Not within my capabilities.
And terrifying.
I thought I'd come so far. It seems the stream has been pushing back, despite what I thought, all this time after all.
Oh bother.

Public Service Announcement

Don't trust me with your plastic, people. I decimated a water bottle last night. It was only 3 hours old. Melted all to fuck. No flames involved. My reign of terror on my kitchenware continues...
Mwahaha...
MWAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

I'm bringing cranky back

I'm 3 days in on the "Master Cleanse"...the juice fast that supposedly removes plaque and all sorts of other nasties from your delicate lil intestines. Holy crapping hunger-pangs, Batman. I could eat a cow (or a cow-like shape made of Brussels sprouts....mmmm, Brusselsssss sproooouts....)
I hope this fucktardery is worth it, I better be all shiny and new and glowing with good health at the end of day 10, dammit. Because I would sell my soul for some cereal right now. It's supposed to break my cravings and I know it's a mind-over-matter thing, that I can totally subsist on the lemon-juice, water, molasses, cayenne pepper mix I am shovelling down in leiu of solids, but damn....maybe my MIND would like a big ol plate of nachos right now...mkaaaay?
Rah.

Can I just say...?

Rowr.....

Not one for celeb-worship. I have been called mad over this particular one. Sorry, but cover him up and you'd still hear my jeans being yanked off so fast there'd be friction burn. Ahee. TMI?

I like 'em quirky, me...

These boots are made for... snoring

I have not worn high heels in a week. I can always gauge the quality of my mood based on my footwear choice. This week has been flat and comfy...much like my ass. At least there's some sort of symmetry in my life right now. For someone with a most extensive collection of what could be termed "ARE YOU INSANE?!" heels, I reckon I should be making more of an effort. Bah. Next week. If I knew how to read my biorythms I reckon they would tell me to take a nap.

My shoes
Which art in cupboard
Apathy be thy name.

Most exciting discovery of the week? Celery sticks+sugar free peanut butter=2 kinds of awesome. Though I think I may be late to the party on this one.

Am still learning to navigate the blogosphere (I use that term with a heaping dose of irony, because I love how up-my-own-ass I sound when I say it, mwhahaha) but I know this looks about as interesting as an ad for toilet paper right now. I need to clean up around here.
Bah.
Next week.

Fart jokes

My lil foul-mouthedf Pollyanna mind-twin
When I am pre-anxiety attackerous over guns and potential disaster, you manage to make me corpse laughing with fart jokes.
I love you for that.
The fact that you're leaving me for colder pastures makes me more scared than you know.
But I won't say it.
You SO deserve better than here.

Champagne and melted washing machines

Work is totally kicking my ass, so this experi-blog thingy has suffered as a result. As has my resolution to get my ever-widening ass to the gym on a regular basis again. Shocker.
The only thing that hasn't fallen by the wayside due to my shiteous time management skills (who needs a whole six hours of sleep anyway, c'mooooon get moving!) is my champers habit. Have developed a new mini-addiction (they arrive fast, furious and seemingly out of nowhere, few stick around long) to JC LeRoux. The pink kind, if you please. God, what a girly-girl. Pink. Strictly one glass per evening - medicinal purposes. Ahee.
In more interesting news, well, to me anyway, I melted my washing machine last night. In a totally champagne-unrelated event.
That it all.
As you were.

Ssssh, there's no one here...and that's fine by me

A quiet place
to rest my rage
confrontations buried
on this page

Let's see if I can courage-up enough to do so again, minus the locked diaries and scent of brushes soaking in spirits.
Slowly, slowly...